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Cryptic Jan 2019
I did not engineer

Nor attempt to construct

The human soul


Not I

The mere idea seemed frivolous

Damnably gelatinous and

Above all else

Impossible to comprehend

How silly it might turn out

Indeed I thought this

I did attempt however

To make a spicy jam

One evening at the

End of Winter I believe

Lovely time

When this,

What I consider the beginning of a debacle,


I threw together

Bits, and things, and twigs,

And professional spices,

And Illicit words, and

Brown sugar,

And old tea,

And harmless fun

And Puppy Dog Tails,

And I’m allergic to snails,

And something that I called Steve

It could have been Tom

But it looked like a Steve to me

Despite its arguments that it was

A Barbra through and through

I stirred and fiddled and sang

To this black and thin glop

I indeed attempted to call

A spiced jam concoction

That was tap-dancing in circles

On my stovetop without permission

When, no I know, the usual happened

I became bored


Yes Indeed I did






Where was I?

Oh yes.


Bored of this



Fred Astaire

Not spicy jam

So I left what would become

The self-engineering diluent,

Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing

That would become the human soul

On the back burner  

While I cooked some pasta instead

I prefer pasta

It is delicious

Not like that mistake of mine

It continued to be a mistake of mine

It was not pasta,

It was not spiced jam,

And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin


For a year

I believe

It could have been a week

A very long and tiring week

Or seven years

When I heard the back burning

Singing back to me

About apples with a crisp bite

About fireworks that misfired

About drug needles used to sew together sanity

Was this too spicy?

With its two voices of

Hospital dust


Captive applause

Oh my,

This couldn't possibly

Taste good

I believe whatever this has

Festered into without

Adult supervision,

I believe it might be beginning to turn

Like milk and wine

I bottled it in a wooden bottle

And left it on the stoop of an orphanage

To find a good home

I wonder if this not spiced jam

Has found a good home

Last I heard

They all went from it to They

And attended Engineering School.
Simone13 Aug 2018
down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows

ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust

stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray

down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow
BA Khan Sep 2017
Walk Tall..

Walk Tall my child walk tall,
The vultures will soon be gone..walk tall,
This razed land knows its blood in the fall,
As it imbibed the pious juice in its ***** afterall,
The tears that roll down from your aspen eyes,
Will nourish many a thristy soul that silently cries,
How will we forget the enemy that came,
And our own brethern of doubious fame,
That tore our home and stole our land,
And backed us to our last stand..
The time will come when it will be over,
And the sun will shine in the morning hour,
So be ready my little one,
Thou are sure the chosen one,
You have to rule these meadows and all,
So walk Tall..walk tall walk tall.
"This poem was written on the spur when going through an article in VoxKashmir and mailed them  but as usual was not published. I made some corrections  and put it here.
(Ba Khan)
Serafeim Blazej Jun 2017
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Se eu te disser, companheiro
Que a vida não vale a pena no mar
Você desiste de velejar?
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Se eu te confessar, companheiro,
Que estou a duvidar
Você insiste em me acompanhar?
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Se eu esbravejar, companheiro
Você me aceita sem lutar
E me ajuda devagar?
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Se eu gritar, companheiro
Você me resgata de me matar
Ao insistir em não respirar?
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Você é meu fiel companheiro
Você consegue nisso acreditar
Mesmo que eu esteja a titubear?
Marinheiro, marinheiro
Você, companheiro
Vale por cem cargueiros
Cheios de nosso companheiros.
Breeze-Mist Jul 2016
I want to sit with you by the Arby's
And watch the future's lights pass overhead
I want to run together in the breeze
Through the desert with the glow cloud ahead
I want to eat at Big Rico's with you
Maybe we could sneak in some wheat products
I want to find out if we could get through
This town without joining that calm forest
I want to visit the science district
And we can go watch an experiment
We can go to see something artistic
For the stray dog's graffiti is apparent
I want to listen to the radio
And, with you, wonder where else we can go
Lauren spooner Jun 2014
The trees are sinking
As the ground grows mouths to swallow them
Keep your head held high
No, actually, don’t
Heads held high are often cut off
Stay low, keep to the shadows
NOT THOSE SHADOWS! Those ones, over there.
Yes. Don’t move. Don’t ever move again.
Question your existence as you huddle
Trying to be still but shivering despite yourself
There are no mouths here, nothing to swallow you
And isn’t that a shame?
Find the teeth that will crush you
Throw yourself on their unyielding edges
Accept your fate. Everyone else has.
Can’t you see that?
Can’t you hear it in the empty echo of your voice
As you call for help, for company, for a face, any face?
Stop. You are dreaming this.
Oh you are still alone, we all are
But there are no gnashing teeth to grind you up
No mouths in the ground to swallow you whole
Breathe. Relax. It’s all okay. It’s all okay.
Everything will be okay if you let it.
Will you let it? Do you need to be convinced?
Stop. You are dreaming, you are dreaming.
Wake up. Why can’t you wake up?
The ground is opening up again
This is too real to be a dream
All you can do is cry soundlessly into the dark

— The End —